VIRAL
by Something Pretty
Summary: ZxC. The world was in a state of inescapable chaos. And it could be reversed only when the blood was drained from her veins. I had to protect her. It was my turn to be a hero. “I'm here to rescue you.” I had spoken the words before, but never like this.


**V I R A L  
**The world was in a state of inescapable chaos.  
And it could be reversed only when the blood was drained from her veins.

**Summary: **Alternate Universe. Peter Petrelli was unable to stop Adam Monroe from releasing the mutated strand of the Shanti virus. It has spread throughout the United States, infecting both those with and without special abilities. After the Company learns that her blood may be the cure to the pandemic, Claire Bennet is in grave danger. Amidst the chaos, Noah Bennet searches for Meredith Gordon, returning to Texas to find it in ruins. When his path crosses with that of seventeen-year-old Zachary Butler – one of his daughter's former allies – everything must change for better or for worse.

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July 19, 2007

My name is Zachary Butler. I'm seventeen, and a survivor of the Shanti virus. Everything that has happened to me in the past few months has led up to this moment. And the contents of this journal may be the _last_ account of human life for **centuries** to come. I am _**alone**_.

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The pandemic had been spreading for several weeks before my story began. After the virus had been released from the underground laboratories of the Primatech paper headquarters, we were evacuated from Odessa for fear that we would be infected. Homes were abandoned, families were separated, and the once peaceful suburb was left in a state of inescapable chaos. Not a single day passed without the news of another death: the result of being exposed to the virus. Tears never stopped. Hope never came. And a few hours after my father's death, I adopted the philosophy that every survivor seemed to have.

We were all going to die.

In isolation, we forged friendships that were based on one common emotion – everlasting fear. It was not long before those who contracted the virus had familiar faces. I watched the people I had befriended, both young and old, die painful deaths, slow and merciless until their final moments of life. I watched them from behind walls of thick glass, where they were quarantined after becoming sick. I gave reassuring smiles – pointless in our situation, but there was nothing else that could be done. There was no cure. It soon became commonplace knowledge that when one was infected with the virus, they had just a few short days to live.

I remained in a limbo of sorts, never shedding tears for the friends I lost, never wishing to bring them back. I was remote, my eyes watery and red from exhaustion.

It was not until my mother contracted the virus that I sunk into depression.

I knew that in a matter of hours, I would be alone. Perhaps, I would be alone until it was my turn. I would be left to live alone and – after I contracted the disease – _die_ alone. I did not leave the room where the other survivors were staying, even after they took my mother away. I could not bear to see her – on her deathbed, soon to join my father wherever he had gone. And wherever my friends had gone. I tried to ignore the truth that persistently loomed over me. I refused to belief that everyone I loved was slipping away.

There was only one I knew who might have had even the slightest chance to stay alive.

And throughout those miserable weeks, I thought of no one but her. I detached myself from the others who suffered with me, unable to move from the secluded corner where I had wished sleep claim me night after night. I could not keep feelings of loneliness and vulnerability from engulfing me, and in those unbearable moments, I would close my tired eyes and remember the last time I had seen her – on a rainy afternoon in mid-October. She stood with me on the porch of my house, holding her hand out to catch the falling droplets. She was distracted, almost as if she knew that – less than two weeks later – her house would explode, and she and her family would permanently disappear from Odessa.

_You're my best friend, Zach. You know that, right? _Our eyes had locked then, and her gaze was deeper than any I had known before. I felt as if she could see right through me, those deep blue eyes piercing my heart, my entire being. _And even though you don't remember… I don't want to go back to the ways things were before we met. I don't want to be that person anymore. _

It hadn't taken me long to realize that her words were sincere – that something _had_ happened to me that made me forget. It was about her ability – the way she could jump off of a platform that stood eighty feet in the air and walk away unscathed. I knew that. Someone was out there – trying to protect her in the way I always wanted to. Whoever they were, they hadn't believed me to be trustworthy enough to bear her secret. And so they had stolen memories of the moments that mattered most.

"Zachary?" It was on one particular afternoon – almost a week after my mother died – that she approached me. It was the first time one of the survivors had interrupted my reverie; it was the first time in several days I had strayed from thoughts of Claire Bennet, the thoughts that were keeping me sane. It was one of the nurses that had addressed me, leaning forward a bit to examine my somewhat frightening appearance. "Are you Zachary Butler?" She repeated my name. It had been a long time since I had heard someone say it.

I refused to meet the nurse's eyes. She didn't appear to be much older than me, not nearly old enough to be caring for those with the virus. "That's me." I responded, my voice croaky from disuse, and my tone bland. Why did she give a damn? It did not matter who I was. I had no family. I had no friends. I had no one. She should have been focusing on making those who were dying behind those cold glass walls comfortable – not interrogating me. I suppose it was my exhaustion that kept me civil; my thoughts were harsh, much like the words I wished I could speak. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I wanted to curse. I wanted to make others understand how I was feeling – how completely hopeless everything seemed.

I felt as if I was drowning above water.

"Someone is here to see you." The nurse replied, and it was my shock that made me look up. Someone to see me? How was that possible? My parents were dead – and I had no relatives anywhere nearby. My grandparents lived in Missouri. My aunt and uncle lived in Maine. Was it possible that they were here for me? Could the virus have spread to the northern states? "He's waiting for you in the lobby. He told me his name was Bennet. Are you familiar with that name?"

Bennet? Surely she didn't mean Bennet as in _Claire_ Bennet. It was probably another Bennet. Or maybe a _Bennett_. It wasn't an uncommon name. And yet, to know that there was a possibility that Noah – or even _Lyle_ – was waiting for me somewhere within walking distance was enough to excite me.

"Yes. I know the name."

The nurse appeared to be as hopeful as I was, brushing chestnut brown strands out of her eyes and giving me one of those virtually pointless, reassuring smiles. She extended her hand out to me, pulling me to my feet and leading me out of the crowded room of survivors. They were moving to the front of the room, anxious to watch the evening news report as they did every night. It hadn't been long after my mother had died that I stopped joining them. I had been convinced that all hope was lost.

My limbs were shaking with both fatigue and excitement as the nurse led me to the glass barrier that kept us from the sick on one side, and visitors on the other. The lobby had been empty throughout the duration of my stay there; no one with half a mind dared to risk traveling into Oklahoma. It was too close in proximity to Texas. I realized who he was even before I saw his face.

Sure, there may have been a hundred Bennets – maybe even a _thousand_ Bennets – but only _one_ was determined enough to jeopardize his life by exposure to the Shanti virus.

And he was standing on the other side of the glass.

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End file.
